


Double Tab

by mangneov



Category: No Straight Roads (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental symbolic alcohol?, DJNeon is implied, Gen, It's just some more early boss squad stuff, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29983539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangneov/pseuds/mangneov
Summary: Neon J and DJ Subatomic Supernova meet: take one.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Double Tab

Of all the NSR artists, DJ Subatomic Supernova was the one J was looking forward to meeting the least. 

The Zolotos of Natura were revered for their elegant performances and upkeep of classical music. In press they were polite and eloquent, and in person they were warm and witty. J had chatted amicably with them for a number of minutes before they were pulled away, and had deflated at the sudden loss of conversation. But it was reassuring to know that he'd be working with them in the future; they were just such friendly and easy people. 

Akusuka's head, Bernadotte, had been a surprising delight. J had been enchanted by his rumbling voice and cool demeanor, and the dashing cut of his coat. Akusuka had already left such an impression on him with its moody atmosphere and dark, stylish architecture. He'd found himself enthralled in discussion with the man after only a few minutes, in which they'd found themselves in the solitude of a lone, hidden corner. 

Unfortunately, Bernadotte had drifted away all too soon at what might've been the appearance of an old friend. J had said goodbye almost hopefully, but got little more than a hat tilt in response.

Later into the night, after plenty of conversations and questions about his plans as the newest charter, he'd encountered the DJ. Not a bad musician, the closest to his own work, in fact, but with a personality J found unappealing. The holier than thou attitude, the overly lenient demeanor, the utter lack of black tie attire. 

But J kept his judgments locked down and stuck out his hand sharply upon being greeted. He kept his voice firm when he said hello, but then he said no more than that.

"The night beginning to take its toll?" Supernova asked, filling in the icy silence with evidently practiced ease.

"I wouldn't say that. Party's just getting a bit dull."

"Mm, I didn't want to say anything myself, but I must admit I agree."

J watched him swirl his glass. When he tipped it to his orb-head, the liquid disappeared with a small rippling in the star-stuff. It was admittedly fascinating to watch.

"I'm surprised I haven't seen you around yet," Subatomic said conversationally. "Though I'm not at the tower too often. It's hard to miss someone like you around town, however."

"I'm not from Vinyl City," J admitted, than instantly regretted it. 

"From where, then?"

"None of your business, soldier."

Subatomic chuckled. It made J bristle.

"Alright then, I apologize; not my place to ask. Most of us aren't. I was just curious where someone of your technological caliber learned his craft." 

"Really?" J asked suspiciously, but softened.

Subatomic hummed. "But of course. We're part of the new age, the tech age, aren't we? Cast Tech and Metro Division. The older crowd doesn't care about that sort of stuff."

"And just how old are you?"

"I'm recently thirty one. You don't read the magazines, Neon?"

"Call me J."

"I can't imagine you're that much older than me."

He hesitated. "I'm thirty seven."

"Ah, I see. Older than myself and the Zolotos, then."

J tilted his head curiously. 

"Not old, though."

"Of course not. You're not going to be old for a long time."

An awkward silence filled the space between them again. Subatomic finished off his drink. J played idly with his cuffs. 

Subatomic cleared his throat, or made a noise rather like it. "Were you military?"

"I was," J answered, perking up slightly. "Navy. Snooped my file, huh? You knew how old I was, didn't you?"

"Let's not make assumptions. I may have done a little light reading, but I'm particularly skilled at observation," Subatomic said, amused. 

"It's good to be sharp. Sharp in the eyes, sharp in the dress."

"Is that a critique?"

"Of what?"

"It's not like either of us have eyes."

"Not anymore."

Subatomic hummed again and J fidgeted. 

"You look plenty sharp," Subatomic continued after a moment. 

"Oh—I—thank you." J blubbered. It took him a second for the words and their subtle inflections to set in. "Wait, I'm sorry?"

"You look sharp, you look good. And I have great taste."

"You can't just say those things," J whispered in a rush, pulse suddenly increasing tenfold. He threw a nervous glance to his left, checked if anyone at the bar had heard Subatomic's boldness.

"Why not?" Subatomic asked, and he sounded genuinely confused.

"Do you want a list?" J hissed. "We're under intense media attention at a public event, we're both high profile figures, this is my night of first impression, and you've said that to me right out in the open like we're not both men-"

"Is there a problem with your last point?"

J froze in his fidgeting with mild shock. "What?"

"You seemed rather comfortable under Bernadotte's arm earlier."

"I wasn't under his arm," J hissed. "And that was different. We were away from the party." Belatedly, he hurriedly added, "And it wasn't—that."

Subatomic's judging silence was very telling.

"I'm sorry, are things just different here?" J asked, irritated. There had been a multitude of changes in Vinyl City to which he was still adjusting. But the implications of what Subatomic was suggesting were...startling, to say the least.

"Certainly different from wherever you're from, based on your reaction," Subatomic said. "It's not exactly mainstream, but men are allowed to do whatever they wish with each other in Vinyl City."

J felt his systems heat up slightly. "I didn't...yes, that's different from where I came from."

"Oh. That's a little sad, actually," Subatomic murmured. 

"My home isn't 'sad'," J corrected sternly. "It was maybe less open to certain ideas and practices, but it's still where I built all my important relationships. I learned how to be a comrade in the Border Wars. Just on the bottle and I was building the strongest of companionships out there."

"I heard about those. Never came to my hometown, though. I wouldn't have been old enough for recruitment anyways."

"You're lucky," J said, and gestured at his sonar-head. 

Subatomic waved for another glass. "This is getting depressing. I'm changing the subject. Would you like to take this outside?"

"Surely Tatiana would want me to stay inside with the press."

Subatomic shrugged. A flute was placed into his fingers delicately, and he brought it up to his head smoothly. "Yes, because you're being absolutely swarmed right now."

J looked out towards the lobby. The mixture of guests and reporters had thinned out slightly, some seeming to have departed early and others taking to the tables to indulge in drink and dessert and gossip. He spotted Tatiana and Dima in discussion with one such group and Bernadotte nursing a glass with a handful of introspective looking forty somethings. Jilpa was nowhere in sight.

"You've been getting absolutely dogged for the last four hours. You should fully enjoy your last night of freedom before the responsibilities of being a megastar begin to come in."

"You make it sound so harrowing," J sighed, but he'd conceded. He slid off the bar stool.

"I didn't mean to. You should just know that you have a lot to face ahead."

"No more than a captain."

"If the analogy works for you," Subatomic shrugged, and drained and set his glass down on the bar.

Their conversation held up once they were outside, where J shivered against the wind even though he could barely feel it. He'd fished an alcohol simulation chip, an experimental little thing, from his pocket, and, feeling he was cleared from questioning, had plugged it into his ports as he listened to Subatomic ramble on about something or other. The effect was wonderfully warming. He could feel himself entirely relax as they talked (maybe a bit too much, so he'd have to alter the dosage) and it was just so nice to speak without a camera pointed at his face.

They'd talked without restraint, too; only the tower security and the occasional smoking reporter or guest there to bear witness with all but their ears. But nothing overly significant was shared, and J was just fine with that. The more menial the conversation the better. He'd always been embarrassingly (grievously) over-sharing when drunk.

Awhile later, they were corralled back into the tower. J removed the chip from his ports, and the fogginess quickly began to clear as the simulated effects died away. 

"Quite lucky you can do that. I get headaches so terrible when I drink that I've just stopped altogether," Jilpa commented, appearing in his peripherals from thin air.

"I did too back then," J said, shoving down the urge to demand why she had been eavesdropping. Make a good impression, son. "I was less responsible. Kept drinking anyways."

Jilpa made a noise of understanding.

The three of them, Subatomic a little less light on his feet but still quite the presence, walked through a hallway back to the convention room where the event had been taking place. His coworkers exchanged dialogue around his head, and J counted the number of faces he could recognize on the walls they walked past. Regrettably, he could only identify three of the many featured on papers and magazines. Most of the unknowns were rock stars, a genre he'd mostly missed out on in his country of origin.

The crowd had shrunk considerably when they arrived. Only a dozen guests remained, and were saying goodbyes and being ushered out. Tatiana and her two other artists were sat in expectant silence at a table in the back, which they made their way over to with progressively dimming sound.

"Stay standing, if you would, J," Tatiana said, and J paused mid-bending over to quickly comply.

"Ma'am?"

"I appreciate your endurance with the press today," Tatiana continued. The megastars' gazes fell on him, and he straightened instinctively. "I know it must've been long, but these things are necessary. You've performed well so far in public. I have high hopes for you in the future and welcome you as an addition to NSR."

"Thank you." He dipped his head appreciatively. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"Thank your fellow artists. You wouldn't be here without their votes."

"Oh, right. Thank you all, too," he added awkwardly.

"Like Tatiana said: you are welcome addition to NSR," Dima said, his smile characteristically gentle. 

Jilpa nodded in agreement. "We look forward to seeing what you can do."

Bernadotte didn't say anything, but the tilt of his hat was validation enough for J.

"I look forward to working with you in the future," Subatomic contributed last. 

"Thank you all," J said broadly, refusing to dwell. At everyone's seat was a glass of champagne, and he grabbed his own and brandished it in a show of camaraderie. Oh how he wished for that taste again, that liquid courage. 

Ah, well.

"To a new NSR," he proposed. "May I only improve upon it."

Everybody drank, and J watched them, his own flute untouched.

**Author's Note:**

> Old-ish fic from last year. Very minor readability editing, but otherwise unchanged. 
> 
> I believe this is the first time Dima's name appears in my writing. This fic predates Simple Child and Seasonal Theme, at least. While Jilpa's name is inspired by her powers and the fact that she's referred to constantly as 'mama', Dima has barely anything to work with. Seeing as he plays the piano, I thought it'd be (interesting? Funny? Easy?) to code him Russian. So if you haven't been reading him with a thick Russian accent, get on it!
> 
> More recently, I've decided on a timeline for the NSR universe. Because J's deployment to the Azkar faction was in '68 and he's in his forties during the game, I'm estimating that the events of NSR take place sometime in the 90s. That puts this fic in about 1982. 
> 
> So Mayday and Zuke were using touch screen phones in 2000 at a _huge_ stretch, which I find hilarious.


End file.
